Like a Satellite
by La Patron-Minette
Summary: They are the orphans of the American dream. Let their light shine through. Éponine/Courfeyrac, mentions of e/R and Azelma/Feuilly


**Here's a short one, but I had to get back at ConcreteAngel (god why is she such an Enjoniner smh /just kidding... Kinda/) so this is using an AU from her original story 'Arson' **

* * *

She looks back at the fire and smiles. The flames dance off the glazy surface of her amber eyes in that moment before she ducks into the woods, into the shadows.

Who said that she would never set the world on fire?

* * *

She finds them when she is at the point of death, curled around her empty stomach. Her skin, already pale, has grown sickly and her hair is lifeless and tucked into an old cap that does little to keep her warm. The coat that she wraps around herself has worn through; her bare elbows are exposed to the cold winter wind.

Then there is a voice coaxing her from the shadowy grips of the grim reaper. She blearily opens her eyes to see pale blue and dirty hair that falls in the angel's eyes. She tiredly reaches out and brushes the child's dirty face and she is losing consciousness when that young voice calls, "Courf! Enjy! I found s'mone!"

When she wakes up, she is warmer than she's been in since she ran away. She's tucked into layers of rags and a folded pair of shorts is the equivalent to a pillow. There is someone beside her, coaxing food into her mouth. It is a girl, a few years younger than she is, who spoon feeds her lukewarm, watery chicken noodle soup. She gulps gratefully and falls back asleep.

The girl is gone when she returns to the world of the living, replaced by a girly-looking boy who regards her with a cool, calculating stare.

"Are you trans?" He asks. She narrows her eyes, barely registering that the syllables released into the air are intended to form words.

"Excuse me?" She manages. He sighs and rolls those eyes that are even bluer than the ones of the younger boy who found her.

"Are you a boy born into a girl's body?"

"I don't think so." She supplies. "But I _do_ know what the streets are like for a teenage girl on her own."

His pale lips (_he's so white_, she thinks, _if the other boy is an angel than he is a snow king_) make the ghost of a smile. "Smart girl."

"Do the others know?" She asks. He tilts his head to the side and frowns.

"Only Azelma. She's the other girl." He tells her. She tries to sit up only for this slender, ghostly man to press her back down into her little nest. "Rest, girl."

"I have a name." She whines. "'Ponine Jondrette, that's me."

"We'll call you Johnny." Says the man. "Tomorrow you'll meet the others."

* * *

She meets them.

Yes, she meets them.

She has to keep her mouth closed when she recognizes the little boy, Gavroche, who saved her. Upon a closer look, she knows the young girl, Azelma, too. They are twins, both eleven years old and she remembers when, nine years ago, her parents left them on some random doorstep.

To no one's surprise, they've ended up as members of this underage street gang. Éponine is glad that they seem happy now. There are too other little kids, both boys in the age range of three and five. She wonders, briefly, if they are also her long-lost siblings. She shakes the pestering thought.

There is a boy her age, thirteen, named Feuilly. He's fairly quiet but he's strong, often taking over the heavy-lifting of the group. Azelma looks at Feuilly with a childish awe that tells of first loves.

The three oldest are Combeferre, Courfeyrac, and Enjolras. Combeferre is eighteen and he works at a gas station on night shifts to bring them money. Courfeyrac is younger, only fifteen, and so he can't do much. He's become the petty thief extraordinaire, picking pockets and pocketing food for them. Enjolras is seventeen and he doesn't talk about what he does.

Éponine knows about the underbelly of society, and she recognizes the barely-concealed red marks on his neck when he comes back to their hide out. He has that dull but determined look of someone who's not about to let his situation hold him back.

Since all of them are runaways who lack official papers, they can't buy a real apartment or get an official job. They sleep wherever they can and brave whatever illness ails them.

They are the children of the country. The streets belong to them.

* * *

Courfeyrac is sixteen when he finds an easier way to make money. Éponine has grown into the group, integrating well and watching over her siblings with a long-dormant love. Enjolras and Azelma have kept her secret well hidden since both of them have secrets as well. Enjolras has his nightly activities and Azelma loves Feuilly with all her little heart. From the way the boy blushes, Éponine suspects that he feels the same way.

"Johnny," Says Courfeyrac one day, "Why are we so fucked up?"

She says nothing, simply adjusting the cap on her head. He chucks a stone into the deep puddle that's filled a nearby pothole and it skips a few times.

"I'm going to be like him, you know." Courfeyrac says thickly. At this, Éponine finally looks over quizzically. "We both know what he does."

"He sells himself." Éponine answers. "Do you-"

"No." Courfeyrac says hurriedly, but he gives a worrying pause. "At least, not yet."

"What do you mean?"

"It's easier to pick pockets when they're otherwise occupied." he leaves it at that.

She knows not to say anything when she sees him making out with a middle-aged man in an alleyway.

He buys them a real, restaurant meal that night.

Éponine doesn't eat any of it.

* * *

She's asked about where she came from. She winces, remembering the foster brother she left behind and her father's friends' wandering hands. She instead sends Courfeyrac a shrugging look over her shoulder, subconsciously moving her hand up to make sure her cap is secure.

"You can trust me, Johnny." he tells her.

Something in the way his usually light tone is so deathly serious prompts her to obey and she tells him.

Well, she tells him _some _things.

"I came from a bad household. Well, bad might be an understatement. See, once I had three brothers and a sister. A foster sister too, at one point. My parents sold them all, or at least got rid of them. I was kept because I was _useful_. I was smart and small, I could help my dad out with his crimes. My mom, she just wanted one of her girls to stay. She could care less about the boys.

"We got another foster brother a couple years ago. He was cool to me, more like a dad to me than mine ever was. At that point, my parents started treating me like a waste of space just like they used to treat the little ones. They upped Grantaire, though. See, he's talented," She smiles, remembering that boy who lit up her life. "Literally, though, he's good at anything. He can paint, he can wrestle, he can dance, and he can sing. He also holds his drink ten times better than you can," She teases, bumping Courfeyrac.

They laugh for a moment, and Courfeyrac finally asks, "Why did you leave?"

Éponine pauses and tries to forget. But she _can't_. She can feel Brujon's hands on her. She can feel his breath staining her sweaty neck and she feels his weight crushing her.

"Woah, Johnny, are you okay?" Courfeyrac grabs her arm gently and turns her so that she's looking at him. His face is worried, his green eyes shining with concern and his nose crinkled. His chestnut hair is tossed by the wind and he's beautiful, so beautiful in her eyes.

So she does what she's wanted to do for a while. She kisses him.

It happens quickly. He'd already brought himself close to her, but she seals the distance by yanking his neck down to her face and kissing him. They're standing by a fountain in a relatively empty park, and the sun hits their joined faces.

Courfeyrac is frozen. He doesn't respond to her.

She pulls away, hurt and shocked.

"I'm sorry," She apologizes, feeling the tears start to spill over. "I'm sorry, I'll go-"

She doesn't know what she's saying, but she knows that Courfeyrac looks guilty and he's reaching out to her. It's too much. It's all too much.

She leaves.

Enjolras blames Courfeyrac.

It's not said aloud, but they all can feel the tension in the air. Enjolras, upon finding Éponine, had taken her under his wing as a little sister. He is fiercely protective, this stoic man of marble, and although he loves Courfeyrac he had maybe loved Éponine a little more.

She's been missing for over two months.

Azelma cries more and Feuilly's jaw has acquired a stiffness from his grief. Gavroche and the boys are more subdued and slower in their stealing. Courfeyrac is inconsolable; he's become a shell, stuck in one position. Every night he roams the streets, looking for her. He gives up when he can't see those amber eyes in the streetlights.

Enjolras starts taking on more work, and he returns home at the same time as Combeferre, both weary from different jobs.

One day, Enjolras sees a man waiting for him at his usual spot. Instead of his regular type (old, middle-aged men who weren't ready to admit that they had a fetish for young-looking angel-faced teenage boys), it is a young, dark haired man who dangles a flask between his fingers. He turns around, and Enjolras finds himself temporarily stunned from the wisdom in his eyes.

"What can I do for you, sir?" Enjolras asks. The man narrows his eyes and looks Enjolras up and down. Enjolras feels his heart sink; this one is just like the rest. _Just because he's younger makes no difference. _

"We can go in here," He indicates a nearby overhang that casts a nearly black shadow. Enjolras nods wearily and allows himself to be led there. Once hidden, the young man grasps Enjolras's shoulder and says, seriously, "She said I'd find you here."

"Éponine?" Enjolras leaps at the opportunity. "Where is she? How is she?"

"She's not in a good place. I'm going to try to get her out, but you need to leave town with your crew." The young man says, looking around as if someone might be listening in. "I'm Grantaire, by the way. Her brother."

"She never mentioned you." Enjolras says honestly. Grantaire sends him a sad smile.

"None of you knew she was a 'she'."

"I did." Enjolras says. "He didn't."

Grantaire doesn't ask what he means.

* * *

When she returns, she's bloodied and bruised past use. She can't think straight, her eyes are always unfocused and there's a large scar tracing her jaw through her collarbones. Courfeyrac's heart breaks at the sight of his best friend, so broken. He still doesn't know she's a _she_, but the others have all guessed it.

"Johnny, I'm so sorry," He tells her one day when she's less unresponsive. She winces when he tries to touch her.

"Their hands, everywhere." She says, dully. "Second time, too. First time, that's when I ran. I burned down their meeting place too. They were all still inside. I thought I killed them, but I wasn't that lucky."

"Johnny-"

"Éponine. My name is Éponine. My life is cold and dark," She looks over to him, her eyes shining with something that is much more like the kid he knows. "But I'm not afraid."

**Sorry for that cheesy ending and I apologize for any/all mistakes (this is unedited).**

**for documentation of our fic war, my story Your Invisible Girl won here and her story Don't Let Me Burn won on tumblr... **

**Back me up you lovelies! :)**


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